Emasculated Emperor Wang

I just discovered that I smashed to smithereens my time trialing disc wheel. That would have actually been cool -- to have it explode in shards everywhere as I mated my skin to pavement at 40km/h. When I explained the problem with the wheel, the man at the wheel factory replied over the phone "delaminated" in an authoritative contralto. Imagine someone from Minnesota saying "delaminated" over the phone! Enfeebled by his surety, I apologised for destroying his fine product and hung up. Should have asked for a replacement!

At any rate, a friend has offered to help fix my wheel. He is a mechanically gifted chap. I love these people like sacred earrings, like sweet Siberian sunsets, like ecstatic Slavic handshakes. He is going to use some piece of equipment called a "dremmel" which I imagine as a great whirring collection of blades, electrical zaps, and furious vibrations. Also, he mentioned "epoxy" and "fibreglass" which I understood, and therefore detracted somewhat from the alchemical resonance of "dremmel"ing my hub. Nonetheless, I can envisage his fastidious legerdemain with great pleasure.

But if that doesn't work out (as many of my riding buddies have greeted my explanation with pessimism -- a "delaminated" wheel is apparently unfixable) then I shall have to reinvest in another disc. It could be worse, I could be a chef for dogs or a Bulgarian poet or something like that.

~ Buzz Landslide ~

Concatenated Crepitations

Meeting with GK went surprisingly well, and it seems I have the old boy's imprimatur for my thesis. The thesis has been officially approved by the department, as well; now, I need to form a panel. There is hope to bring in one particularly esteemed doyenne of medievalism who might be able to help contextualise my argument more soundly. One member must come from outside the English Department, and it seems wisest to choose a historian; and I believe that one has already been appointed. I am really not sure how all these people are supposed to coordinate; I do feel, however, that getting these people assembled is going to really help me focus.

I had to let my coach know that I can't continue to pay him. Of course, I also can't accept his help without paying him, as I had been doing previously; therefore, I am, once again, in charge of my own training. Usually, when responsible for my own endeavours, whether they be athletic or academic, I have a tendency to slack and rely on talent. However, the way the thesis and training have sort of thematically dovetailed (I am largely now accountable, in each, only to myself) is interesting. I am very much looking forward to the challenge. It's interesting to me how I react when I am responsible to please only myself, instead of others. I must admit that I am very much given to self-definition and validity through others. I must look into that more deeply.

Time to excillate the exogenous redivivifications. Shred it. \m/ \m/

~Quimby "Blackmurder" Quarlesly

Splenetic Vapourisations

More agonising over the disc and the warped tri spoke. Wondering why this doesn't happen to other guys. The way this takes over my consciousness is quite disturbing. SB has graciously offered to attempt to fix my disc, using some alchemical legerdemain involving something called a "dremmel," fibreglass, sandpaper, and other ingenious devices. I am very indebted to him and his mechanical aptitude. Very lucky to have such friends. In the meantime I am stuck with this bloody useless setup. You can spend as much as you like on a frame and components, but you're only as good as your wheels.

Meeting GK tomorrow to discuss my thesis. He still thinks my idea is a good one. We'll see after tomorrow. LOL!

God has spoke-n

Today had promised to be a good day. Bike race in the blessed sunshine. Good friends, healthy competition, possibilities of victory... The course was in Deep Cove, one of my favourites: a nice, long 7 km loop with a very shallow hill at the finish. The hill is deceptive, however; it looks short, but really goes on for a little longer than expected. SB was out, as well as ME, and with myself, and a strong rider from OBB, the 30's looked well capable of catching the 40's. And possibly the 50's.

The race began with a pact to paceline as hard as possible to reel in the older groups. SB took over, and did some strong pulls; it was quickly evident that SB, ME, the OBB rider, and I were the strongest in the pack. I was looking forward to a long, hard race. Unfortunately, my run of bad luck continued today, and into the second lap I broke a rear spoke. It went off with a metallic twang on a corner; about 2 km later it started clanging about, and I decided it was time to pull the parachute. I feel continuing for those 2 kms was actually reckless.

At any rate, I did not feel like hanging about, and, tail between my legs, headed back along W.Saanich for home. I passed by the cottage on McTavish, where my ex and I spent the last couple of years of our relationship. Somehow the successive mechanical failures, my crash, the meeting with my ex, and passing by the cottage overwhelmed my emotions. I began to have dismal thoughts, and by the time I had made the breakwater, I had convinced myself to quit cycling, quit grad school, and 'get a job.'

Some five hours later everything is back to normal. I remain convinced that I must devote myself totally to this thesis, however. There can be no more dallying. Racing weekends, in particular, must be sacrificed; races simply consume the whole day, from the extensive preparations, to the travel, the actual racing, the post-race gab-fest, the travel, and the wind-down: it's a day shot to hell, basically. I'm not even convinced that I can be that productive the following day. The havoc that racing plays on the hormones and nervous system is quite unsettling.

I wonder if I lead two lives sometimes, and even if this duality is somehow necessary to me, and both constitutive of my nature and sustenance for my will, that it slowly is grinding me down and leaving me somewhat listless, even enervated. I've kind of planned to somehow focus on the Sidney TT, and try to keep my weekends for diligent study. Part of this will have to be inviting GK to aid and direct my inquiry, even if I find him a bit obnoxious and quarrelsome.

New Things and Old

Going to see a live band tonight. Been quite some time since I've seen a gig. I'm quite excited; on the other hand, I have a race tomorrow, and this will prevent me from seeing the headliner, Martyr. I actually don't even expect to see the co-headliner, Neuraxis. nevertheless, I should see some good neck-snappin' toe-tappin' action, which is all I really want. Some distraction from the thesis and from cycling.

I did a little tune-up ride today by joining the OBB ride. KSW was there, which was nice. His ankle has prevented him from running this season, so he is converting to the bike, which was his original sport anyway. I hope that he makes a full conversion back to the road; on the other hand, I know that he had some misgivings about the sport; ultimately, he may be unhappy with the sport. Nevertheless, it would be nice to have another friend in the peloton.

I seem unhappy lately. I am not sure if it due to my atrocious diet (can't help) or my lacklustre attempts at the thesis. I have hardly dented the second book yet; it seems I'm such a slow reader, and so slow to take material in; I am not sure if I'm suited to a thesis. At the same time, financial doom is impending; I think somehow this doom is thwarting my current attempts at happiness; and the little Arcadia I had planned this Summer -- this little irenic retreat from material concerns -- is slowly devolving into my typical anxieties. Yes, the constant machinations in my mind about how to pay back these loans is exhausting and distracting me from my purpose. I must put a stop to that.

Well, out the door for a little \m/ \m/

Nothing new under the sun

Perhaps the finest day of this year. The sun came out for real, and everything seemed to spasm into life; the park benches had that wonderful radiant warmth; the breeze at mid-day failed to chill as usual; fat dogs scurried for the shadows. All in all, a good day. I found it -- and am finding it still -- difficult to study today. I fear this Summer will not yield intellectual fruit at this pace. Or it will yield some dried fruit, such as those little apricots (baby ears) or banana slivers. Those dried banana things are good, eh? You ever try the chocolate-covered ones?

It's on days such as this that my heart, perhaps invigorated by sun's radiance, starts to give off those romantic pulsations. And I think "why not?" But my mind never lags far behind, and interpolates the "why?" that must logically follow. Why, indeed. Why must we not be alone? I suggested this to ME today and he had no better answer than I, except to admit to the truth of it.

It always seems such a savage saw-off: the seeming bitterness and despair, and acrimony of togetherness, along with its comforts, and reliabilities, against the forlorn repinings of the solitary life. I know that the answer my grandparents give, about the necessity to first furnish material prospects, thereby securing a mate, procreating, and then expiring in a funk of routine and unexamined rituals, doesn't really resonate for me.

What it is that I want, exactly, doesn't seem to emerge through contrast with their vision, however. I mean, the comfort and reliability and ritual that comes from being with someone isn't exactly repellent to me. At the same time, it's not enough to really justify giving up the life I currently have. Many of my friends seem to have lost in this exchange; the sacrifice of personal liberty has not been compensated for by intimacy. In fact, intimacy seems a trial, a bondage, an ordeal that constantly presents itself in voiced regrets and protestations. And so, they have suffered in compound: once, their liberty; and, again, their dignity.

But other friends seem to have won in this exchange; they seem quite happy to have given up their liberties; the freedom relinquished has been compensated for with true intimacy, support, comfort, and ritual. I dance around this word, "love," surrounding it with other nouns in the hope of shading it in by negative contrast. But I suppose they have it; they have found love by their own definition.

I wonder if this is possible for me. I wonder if my past actions in relationships can cause me to be 'in love,' to be loving. I once accused a friend that he did not truly know what love is; that he did not really 'feel' it and so expended his energies in intellectually analyzing it -- as if he could only feel it by first apprehending it in the mind. I wonder if I was talking to myself there. It might have accounted for the vehemence and outrage with which I presented myself to him.

I wondered this aloud to my ex in our last meeting. I did not say as much, but I permuted it as "I wonder if relationships are a reality for me." I still wonder this, even moreso at this time of year. When it heats up, so do my passions, and I begin, again, earnestly to seek a mate. I want to love, and to be loved. But my mind and heart are each racing the other, and neck-and-neck, the one sometimes outpacing the other; in Spring it seems the heart is the faster. Perhaps it is as Yeats says, "the falcon cannot hear the falconer."

~ Vraswell Croidlejake ~

Malahat Review

Chased SB up the Malahat today. We went out Willis Point, Durrance, Millstream to Finlayson Arm, then Goldstream and Malahat. My legs were fine from yesterday, which surprised me, because I ran the engine "hot" in the TT: more VO2 than LT I think.

At any rate, I was pleased to have the company today; SB is a very engaging and positive training partner. And so f***in' strong, it's really almost freaky. I managed to stay with him up the Malahat, but when we turned at Shawnigan, and did the new subdivision, he dropped me quickly. I feel I could have stayed with him, but the pain would have been unendurable. Instead, I rode my own pace, and got a good workout in.

It's good to have a nice, warm, juicy piece of humble pie now and then. I seem to have gorged myself on the stuff of late, however. Nevertheless, it's good for the ego. By the time I pulled off at Goldstream on the way back, my body was shot. I simply could not even turn the pedals over at a granny pace.

Still trying to get past the meet with the ex the other day. She hasn't sent me a response to my lengthy email, part apology, part appeal to 'be friends'. I hope she does soon; she is the type to ruminate. I wish her the best; at the same time, I am wholly convinced that she deserves someone other than me. I can't offer her what she wants; and it would be best for us to seek different paths and different partners to share those paths. Ok, back to the thesis...

Time Trialist Redivivus

Tonight was my comeback at Sidney. Everyone was quite supportive, and concerned after my scrapes and bruises earned the week before. I assured them I was in quite good form. Sadly, my performance did not live up to my expectations. There was a fortuitous tailwind on the highway; however, that translated into a violent headwind on Lochside. While I was able to get up to 50+ km/h on the highway, I struggled to achieve 40+ on Lochside. I ended up with something like 24:15, which, all in all, should satisfy me. Yet I felt as if I'd gone much faster. This was my first night with a functioning speedo and cadence unit; with the additional input of heart rate, I found myself more confident. I had worried that an abundance of information would be overwhelming; and I was pleasantly surprised to discover its comfort.

Not many people out tonight, which was upsetting. I suppose there is the Bastion Square ride, which draws a crowd of strong riders. Nevertheless, you'd hope that on a good night, people would be participating in the town's only race.

Today I poked about in my studies with no particular force or conviction. That will have to change shortly. I am not sure about quitting work for the Summer; it seems so rash; at the same time, I have to put my priorities in the right place. It will be something I'll think about in the next two weeks. A demain.

Two hearts

It's sad when two people love each other very much, but cannot make each other laugh. They say "love conquers all," and perhaps it does; but can it triumph over those long durations together, those stretches of strained intimacy, when nothing can be said because it can't be understood? The only way to be together then is to be only half together -- to present yourself in part, and keep the rest hidden. To hide your peculiarities under false accent, to stifle and suffocate your voice, and handcuff your heart. To go forward anyway is a great act of faith, hoping that you can become someone acceptable and lovable. To hope you can choke out the 'weird guy', kill him off quickly before he gets noticed and ruins the whole thing. But you never can. That's my lesson. You can never live inside someone else's wishes, even if they compel through nobility and beauty. In short, it's better to be yourself, and be rejected, than to be loved, and be a sham. The truth is that such love is temporary, a lewdly painted blossom soon to weather and wilt. Blaze away, my weird one, blaze away sad, silent son, enflame the regent night, and illumine empress noon-shadow. I'll be as one, or none.